


One Night Love Affair

by renecdote, second_hand_heaven



Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Dirty Talk, Dorks in Love, First Date, Fluff, Fuck Buddies to Fucking Boyfriends, Get Together, Inappropriate use of Green Lantern ring, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Smut, all of the sex, cheesy romance cliches, except it takes them a while to realise they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 18:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote, https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: He did that, he left that mark, a mark that anyone trying to get beneath John’s beloved trench would see. They'd see it and know, explicitly, that there's someone else in John's bed, his life-Oh shit. He’s in deep. Way too deep.Hal Jordan sleeps with John Constantine. He doesn't mean to develop... feelings. But of course it happens anyway.





	One Night Love Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bumblebae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebae/gifts).



> Thank you Danny for sucking us into halblazer hell. Hope you like this little get-together fic.
> 
> And for anyone else who finds their way here, enjoy your stay in the tenth circle of hell :)

Hal tells himself he’s not going to go back. It was one night, a surprisingly fun night sure, but also weird. Not the sex, that was reasonably normal, but the fact that it was John. Constantine. Does fucking put them on a first name basis? Hal has no idea, his brain gets tied into knots whenever he thinks too hard about it.

It started in a bar. Some dingy dive in London that smelled like piss and tobacco. Hal isn’t a classy guy, he’ll drink anywhere as long as the beer is half decent, but that place was below even his meagre standards. It was fine though, he was just there to pass along an artifact and find out how to reverse the curse it put on J’onn. So he could spend half an hour in a crappy bar with a chain-smoking asshole, for the sake of the world or whatever.

He’s still not sure how he got from that to Constantine’s bed. Alcohol definitely, but it couldn’t have been all alcohol. No, there was -is- something about Constantine himself, beneath the cigarette smoke and awfully stained trench coat that Hal can’t seem to define or resist. That smirk, that sharp wit, that hair that Hal wants to twist his fingers in. Some combination of all that and more. 

It was just a fling. Not even a fling, a one-night stand. A drunken mistake maybe, which is certainly what Hal had been thinking the next morning when he woke up with only his pounding head for company. He wouldn’t have been sure it had really happened at all except for the… remnants of their activities dried to the sheets. Gross. 

And yet, as much as he tells himself it was a one-time mistake, he can’t stop thinking about it. Not the way you lie awake at three a.m. bemoaning all your embarrassing moments, but the way you think about a good meal or a nice vacation and wish you could experience it for the first time again. Except this isn’t a five star dish he wants to taste again, it’s stale cigarette smoke on a stupid, talented tongue and that makes it so much worse. 

Hal stares out the windows of the Watchtower’s control room, ignoring the expanse of space to one side and focusing on earth spinning slowly down below. He can see Europe, countries blending together without the help of map lines to pick them apart. Italy’s boot is easy to identify, and France above it, and across a tiny strip of blue is Britain. Hal wonders if Constantine is on that little smudge of land he calls home right now, if he’s in his apartment, if he’d open the door in that damned irresistible trench coat when Hal knocked...

Dammit. He’s going to go back.

—

Tuesday night finds Hal in the hallway outside Constantine’s apartment. London is soggy and miserable and Hal tells himself the only reason he hasn’t knocked yet is because he doesn’t want to pull his hand out of his pocket and suffer the cold. It has nothing to do with the possibility of the door being slammed in his face.

_ Maybe he’s not home _ , Hal thinks. Maybe he won’t have to suffer disappointment. Rejection. Mocking laughter. That stupid, kissable smirk as Constantine says, “what? you thought you were more than a quick fuck?”

Hal clenches his hand in his pocket. Dammit. He shouldn’t have come back. He should have just let it go, moved on, tried to drown out thoughts of waking up in John Constantine’s bed again (and again and again). 

“Hal Jordan?” Hal spins around. Speak of the devil. There Constantine is, in all his trenchcoated glory. “What brings you to town, mate?”

Mate? Like they’re old buddies not… well they’re not really fuck buddies either. Hal shakes the thought away. He’s not sure where it was going anyway. “Maybe I wanted to see you?”

Constantine laughs like it’s a cheap joke and brushes past Hal to his apartment door. He searches his pockets, curses, and then murmurs something beneath his breath, a spell Hal thinks, and opens the door with ease. “You coming?” he asks with a glance over his shoulder. 

Hal follows Constantine into the decently sized apartment. If he took the time to look around last night, he doesn’t remember it now. There’s a surprising lack of occult paraphernalia lying around. With all Hal knows about John Constantine, he almost expected pentagrams carved into the floor, bookcases of grimoires, maybe a few possibly-human bones waiting to summon a demon. There’s none of that. There’s not much of anything, actually, just typical bachelor pad furniture, simple and somehow moderately tidy. 

Constantine shrugs off his trench and hangs it on a coat hook by the door; oddly mature of him. Hal does the same, and he doesn’t think about how domestic it is, hanging their coats by the door, side by side. 

“Beer?” Constantine asks.

Hal shakes his head but hears himself say, “Yeah. Thanks.”

He didn’t come here to drink. He came here to… Well, he’s still figuring that out as he goes really.

He's still trying to figure it out when Constantine returns from the kitchen, two beers in hand.

“So what can I do for you?” Constantine asks. “That amulet I gave you didn’t break the curse?”

What? Oh. Hal shakes his head. “No, that worked.”

Constantine takes another swig of his beer and Hal doesn't miss the way his lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle, or the bob of his Adam's apple with each swallow.

He’s so distracted he nearly misses it when Constantine asks him, “so why are you here? Not that I'm complaining, o’ course, but you know.”

No, Hal doesn’t know. “I told you,” he says, and watches as a devilish grin spills across Constantine face. 

“Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, Jordan?”

Hal shrugs. “Not exactly, no.” He makes eye contact as he says it and catches the exact moment that Constantine gets what he’s hinting at. It’s hard to miss with the way he almost chokes on beer.

But Constantine isn’t the type to be thrown off his rhythm for long. He recovers with a smirk, crossing the space between them until he’s almost stepping on Hal’s toes. “One time not enough, love? Don’t tell me I’ve  _ ruined you for all other men,”  _ he teases, voice high-pitched in mockery. 

God, does he ever shut up? Hal takes hold of the end of Constantine’s tie and shuts him up by smashing their lips together in a punishing kiss. 

Constantine takes the move in his stride, maybe not expecting it, but definitely not pushing Hal away. On the contrary, Hal feels hands tugging at his waistband, pulling their hips flush against one another. 

Cheap beer never tasted better than on Constantine's tongue. The kiss is frantic, as are Constantine’s hands as they slide across Hal’s back and up his chest. Fingers slip beneath the fabric of Hal’s shirt, cool against Hal’s heated skin. Constantine unbuttons Hal’s shirt and Hal lets it slip from his shoulders without a care. All he cares about is getting out of these clothes and getting Constantine into a more favourable position.

When Constantine does push him away, it’s to push him back until he’s seated in the armchair behind him, legs spread wide. 

“Knew you couldn’t stay away,” Constantine grins, sinking to his knees on the threadbare carpet. Hal has to say he’s pretty fond of the sight. With nimble fingers Constantine unzips Hal’s fly and slips Hal’s erection out of his boxers. Constantine strokes him a few times, a dangerous smirk on his lips, and brings the head of Hal’s cock barely an inch away from his mouth. “What with me being irresistible an’ all that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Hal says, and makes him, thrusting into Constantine’s waiting mouth with a sigh. This is why he came back. He weaves a hand into John’s hair, tugging lightly at the blonde strands, and is rewarded with a moan that sends shockwaves through his cock.

The heat of Constantine’s mouth is phenomenal, leaving Hal scratching at the armrest of the chair with his free hand. Hal has to admit it, Constantine knows what to do with his mouth, be it with words or otherwise. His hips cant up into that wet heat, but Constantine does nothing to stop him. Hal bites back a moan. So good. Why did he think it was such a bad idea to come back here? This is fantastic, and the night has barely begun. 

One moment Hal is leaning back against the armchair cushions, and the next he’s landing on Constantine’s bed, bouncing a few times on the uneven springs. They're both completely naked, their clothes strewn across the floor, and Constantine’s lips are still wrapped around his dick.

“I love magic,” Hal says, thrusting to the lax heat of Constantine mouth. Arousal coils tighter and tighter in his gut as Constantine sucks at him, cheeks hollowed, lips flushed. Constantine lets him control the pace, lets Hal fuck his face without a care, and fuck, it’s so good. Too good. Hal tightens his grip on John’s hair, tugging until John gets the picture. 

John pulls off Hal’s cock and shoots him an unimpressed look, a look which would be much more intimidating if it weren't for the way Johns hair was stuck up at all angles like a hedgehog. A very grumpy blonde hedgehog. “What?”

Hal shakes his head. “Nothing, just don't want the fun to end here.”

A wicked grin is back on John's face, his eyes alight with mischief. “I'm sure we can make the fun last all night.” He pushes Hal back onto the mattress and crawls up his body, straddling Hal’s hips and leaning down for a filthy kiss. 

John ruts against Hal's stomach, moaning low in his throat, trapping both their erections between their bodies. And it’s so good, just grinding against one another. Hal gets lost in the kiss, in the feel of John’s body above his, and it must be all the endorphins that make him feel almost content like this. But as much as he loves the weight of John on top of him, Hal has something else in mind. 

Hal flips them, leaving Constantine splayed on his back across the sheets, stunned for barely a moment before grinning, eyes wide. Hal makes note of the way John seems to like being manhandled and files the information away for later. 

Later? He’s getting ahead of himself. 

“Lube? Condoms?” Hal asks, eyes flicking to the nightstand. 

“My, someone's pulling out all the stops tonight,” John says, his smirk concealing a hard edge beneath. “Next thing you know you'll be calling me ‘sweetheart’ and promising to  _ make love to me _ .”

Hal rolls his eyes and ignores what John’s words imply about his other bed partners. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“Top drawer.” 

Hal slides off Constantine’s body and rolls closer to the edge of the bed. Amongst the lighters and empty cigarette boxes, he finds a half empty bottle of lube and a string of condoms in the top drawer of the nightstand. 

Back between John’s spread legs, Hal warms the lube in his hands and slicks up two fingers. 

“Get on with it, would you?” Constantine says, and Hal nudges his legs open further. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Hal’s tempted to form a gag construct just to shut him up, but settles with fucking Constantine with a finger. 

One becomes two quick enough. Constantine twists against the sheets in search of his own pleasure, making things a little more difficult. 

“Stay still,” Hal grunts, the hand at John’s pelvis doing little to stop the bastard from moving. 

Smirking up at Hal, Constantine goads him, still squirming. “Make me.”

Fine then. A soft green glow illuminates the room, and John’s wrists and ankles are bound with green cuffs, keeping him spread eagle on the bed. 

Hal leans down across John’s body, lips right beside John’s ear. “Is this okay?” John nods, but Hal needs to hear it loud and clear. “Say it,” he hisses, and an unmissable shiver runs through John’s taut body at his words. 

“Yes.”

“Good.” He kisses Constantine’s temple, his cheekbone, his jawline, lips tracing over the structure of Constantine's face. Following the tendons of Constantine’s throat, he licks down Constantine’s neck, nipping here and there at the pale skin that’s so often hidden by the trench coat’s collar. John looks good like this, Hal thinks, stretched out on the bed, illuminated in green.

John arches against Hal's mouth as Hal’s fingers search for that sweet spot and-

“Oh fuck,” John groans, his hips bucking of their own accord. 

-there it is.

Hal bites along the line of John’s sternum, fingers still pumping in and out of John’s ass. 

“Come on already,” John says, grinding down on Hal's fingers, “I can take it.”

That just makes Hal take his sweet time with it, stretching and teasing John for much longer than really necessary. He wipes his fingers on the sheets, searching for where he left the string of condoms. At the sound of rustling plastic, Hal looks up. There’s a condom wrapper between John’s grinning teeth. With a roll of his eyes, Hal snatches the packet from John’s mouth and tears it open. He rolls on the condom and grips himself with one hand, lining himself up with John’s hole. 

“Stop being a bloody tease,” John snarls, lashing against his restraints. He could easily escape his green bindings if he wanted, by magic or by just  _ asking _ , but he stays, albeit petulantly, and Hal takes pleasure in knowing -seeing - that.

He also takes pleasure in teasing John until he finally relents. “What, like this?” he asks, a picture of innocence if he weren't currently rubbing the head of his cock in lazy circles around John’s hole. 

“Ngh,” John answers intelligently.

Hal grins at the sound, at the mouthy mage beneath him reduced to this. “Use your words.” 

“You want me to beg?”

Yes, yes he does. “I’ll stop teasing when you stop being such a brat.”

John chuckles a little breathlessly. “We’re gonna be here an awful long time then, love.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” It’s a lie. He’s gripping the base of his cock tightly in an attempt to ward off a quickly approaching orgasm. With his free hand, Hal strokes lightly across the inside of John's thigh. His fingers barely brush the sensitive skin, but the way John’s muscles twitch beneath him, it sets the man's nerves alight. 

“Please,” John whines and that’s it, that’s what Hal wants to hear, needs to hear, spilling from John’s lips over and over again. 

Hal finally enters him, watching Constantine’s face sharply for any sign of discomfort but there is only bliss. Fire crackles in Hal’s chest at the sight. He isn't nearly as gentle as he wanted to be, but John likes it rough, lashing against the restraints and goading Hal to make it harder. 

“Yes,” Constantine hisses, his hips rising to meet Hal’s every thrust. Soon though, John begins to melt beneath him, less frantic and demanding, becoming more and more submissive. 

The restraints fade into nothingness but John stays where he is, malleable beneath Hal’s touch. John gives in to him, surrendering, and damn, Hal might just love the sight of that. 

He loves the sound of it too, the soft little moans and gasps that tell him this round won't last long at all.

Hal bites down on John's collarbone, hard, and the guttural groan he earns from John feels like a victory. He laves over the spot with his tongue, soothing the pain for just a moment before biting down again, and this time he’s rewarded with a whimper. 

He slips a hand between their stomachs, pumping John’s straining cock a few times. Hal feels him spill over his hand with a drawn out gasp that might be Hal’s name. Hal fucks him through it, biting the inside of his own cheek, but the way John clenches around him almost painfully, it's too much. “Fuck, John,” he moans against Constantine’s collar bone, hips stuttering as his orgasm courses through him.

Beneath him, John squirms, an oversensitive mess. Fingers scrape at Hal’s scalp, carding through his hair almost tenderly, and man, Hal could get used to that. He pulls out and rolls onto the bed beside John, catching his breath. 

“Same time next week?” John rasps with an utterly too pleased grin on his lips. 

Hal peels off the condom and huffs out a laugh, but the weight of the evening begins to sink in. He should leave. Now would be the perfect time, he just needs to clean up first. Hal slips from the bed, the hardwood floors cool against his bare feet. He barely makes it two steps from the bed before a hand wraps around his wrist, stilling his movements. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Bathroom,” he says, and it’s not exactly a lie. “Need to clean up.”

John tugs sharply at Hal’s arm, knocking him off balance with a strength unexpected from the man. Hal topples backward onto the bed- and onto John himself- landing with an “oof”. 

“Really?” Hal huffs, but he can’t exactly complain, not as John nuzzles against his chest, a leg slung across Hal’s hips. Something sticky smears against Hal’s stomach, a mess that will just have to wait until the morning. There's no way he's going to be able to untangle himself now, not that he really wants to. It’s probably just the post-coital haze that sends tendrils of pleasure through Hal’s body at the feel of John’s embrace. He falls asleep to the sound of John snoring softly, contently, on his chest, almost sounding like a purr. 

—

Hal wakes up in Constantine’s bed sticky, sore, and alone. He’s not quite sure what he expected, last time had been pretty much the same.  _ Fucking hell. _ He scrubs a hand across his face, his stubble grating against his palm. 

He sits up and begins looking around for the clothes that were forgotten on the floor last night. They should be right… Then he remembers. Magic. Fucking magic. 

“Sleep well, love?” 

John leans against the doorway, coffee cup in hand, wearing only a pair of boxers. Hal’s boxers. The green fabric hangs dangerously low on John’s hips. 

Hal’s brain short-circuits at the sight, and there aren’t enough brain cells left to discern what John means by ‘love’.

There’s a purple bruise at John’s collarbone, low enough that it could easily be covered by the collar of his shirt. If he was wearing a shirt. Which he is not. A sense of pride swirls in Hal’s gut at the sight. He did that, he left that mark, a mark that anyone trying to get beneath John’s beloved trench would see. They'd see it and know, explicitly, that there's someone else in John's bed, his life-

Oh shit. He’s in deep. Way too deep. 

“I have to go,” Hal says, scrambling from the bed. 

“What’s the rush? I was hoping for a little more fun.”

But Hal is already pulling on his jeans, searching for his shirt which should be… somewhere. 

“Couch,” Constantine says, and takes another sip of his coffee. There’s something different in his tone, but Hal can’t spare any time to consider what it means. He slips past Constantine and into the living room, where his shirt hangs limply from the arm of the sofa. 

Hal grabs his wallet, slips on his shoes, and is out the door before Constantine can say anything else that might make him stay. 

—

Hal is exhausted. He gets back to his own apartment and slumps onto the bed, face down, his bruised body groaning after an unexpected and brutal trip to space. It’s been, what, three days since his last encounter with Constantine, and he feels like an asshole. There’s a text on his cell from a  _ Mr Irresistible  _ asking for another round, and Hal doesn’t need to be a detective like Bats to figure out who it could be. 

He hasn’t replied. Hal is supposed to be the man without fear, but he's been acting like a coward these last few days. 

He’s never been the type for mushy feelings, but he can’t deny that there’s something going on in his chest. Something that has a name that Hal doesn’t want to even think about. The last time he chased a feeling like that it ended terribly. More than once. What was it Carol said? “Afraid of commitment.” 

It had hurt, but if anything this just proves she wasn’t wrong. Hal can’t believe he just walked out of there, walked out on Constantine. 

No, he can believe it, because he’s an idiot.

Fuck. 

That's it. He's going to buy some dumb flowers, show up at John's door, and apologise for running out like that. And then maybe he can apologise in other ways…

\--

It’s becoming familiar, Hal waiting on John’s doorstep. He’s about to knock when he hears John talking through the thin apartment walls, and someone else replies. The stranger’s voice is loud, and very masculine, and it makes something seize in Hal’s chest. 

“Chas,” John whines, drawing out the word, no, the name. 

_ Chas? _

They grow quiet, their words too soft for Hal to understand. Or maybe they’re not speaking anymore at all, tongues put to other, more creative uses.

Hal grits his teeth. John is... seeing someone else? Of course. Of fucking course. This isn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t what he planned. This isn’t supposed to hurt. He doesn’t know why he thought John Constantine would be any different to the man Hal first thought he was after a few fucks. Obnoxious, selfish, flirty but afraid of commitment. Heartbreak in a trench coat. 

And Hal fell for it. Fell for him. 

The flowers feel heavy in his hand. Hal tosses them in the first trash can he walks past, a rusting silver thing slouching beside a taxi parked on the street.

It’s probably for the best anyway. 

—

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

_ Stupid. _

Hal dodges another energy blast from the League villain of the week, his reflexes a little slower than normal. Which isn't good, especially if he doesn't want to get turned to a pile of intergalactic dust. Because of course it’s aliens. It’s always fucking aliens. Aliens with glowing eyes and weird tech that shoots pink energy blasts out of their hands. Hal swerves and the energy just misses him. Maybe it’s not tech, just weird alien biology? Hal isn’t sure, he didn’t pay as much attention to Batman’s quick briefing of the situation as he should have. 

It's bad. He can’t focus, can't get John out of his head. He thought, he stupidly thought, that one more time wouldn't hurt, that one more time wouldn't matter. 

Well. No. That’s a lie. He thought one more time might lead to more. Not a relationship, not really, he hadn’t wanted that until… An image of John in Hal’s boxers crowds his mind. He doesn’t dodge the energy blast this time; it hits the shield he throws up at the last second, the force sending him spinning out of the air. Fuck. He lies there for a moment, sand and salty water getting into the crevices of his suit, before slowly he picks himself up off the ground. 

“Jordan!” someone yells. Clark lands on the beach, sand spraying up around his boots. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

There’s a grunt and then Batman is growling in his ear, “ _ Get back in the sky then. And keep your head out of the clouds this time. _ ”

Hal cringes. Great. Now not only is he mad at himself, but Batman is mad at him too. Just what he needs. It’s not like his life doesn’t suck enough already.

—

Carol lets herself into the apartment two days later. Hal is on the couch in boxers and a faded Beatles t-shirt, really not in the mood for company. Carol, of course, doesn’t give a shit. 

“I brought alcohol and movies,” she says, dropping her bag onto the kitchen counter with a thud. It’s a familiar sound, as is the sound of two glass tumblers clinking against one another, and the seal of a fresh whiskey bottle being opened. 

Carol slides onto the couch beside him and hands him a glass. 

“Thanks,” he says, and his voice sounds rougher than it should. 

“You doing okay?”

No. “Yeah.”

Carol nods, setting her glass down on the coffee table and wordlessly starts the first movie. The opening credits of  _ He’s Just Not That Into You  _ roll on the screen and Hal bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a scream. He and Carol might be on good terms after everything, but she still knows how to rub a little salt in his wounds. 

“Did you have to pick this one?” he groans.

“Don’t be pathetic,” Carols says. Then, after a sip of whiskey, “It has a happy ending.”

So Hal watches the dumb movie, with a lead that looks suspiciously like Bruce, and keeps his mouth shut. He looks over at Carol, her face lit up by her phone screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Tinder. Want to help?”

Hal shrugs and leans closer to Carol’s side, the movie rolling on, forgotten. 

“He’s hot,” Hal says, eyeing the profile picture. Blonde, average height, with a cheeky smirk and a stubbled chin. 

Carol wrinkles he nose. “Pass.”

“Why? He’s hot.”

“Because he’s your type, not mine.”

Hal rolls his eyes at her, but she’s not exactly wrong. Fuck, since when did he have a  _ type?  _ And since when was his type  _ John?  _

Something must show on his face, since Carol looks up and asks, “What’s the name of this guy you’re so hung up on anyway? I haven’t seen you this way since…”  _ Since me _ .

“Constantine.” Hal pauses. “John.”

“And you’re moping at home instead of calling him because?”

Hal can’t swallow down the anger that burns in his throat. “He was with someone else, Carol. What do you expect me to do?”

“Were you even dating?” Carol asks, not looking up from her phone. “What do  _ you _ expect?”

She does have a point. She usually does, the rational part of Hal’s mind supplies. John probably thinks Hal wants him for a quick fuck, nothing more, and Hal is starting to realise that it’s not what he wants, not by a long shot. The sex thing is good, don’t get him wrong, but a relationship? Hal might like the sound of that. Maybe he should ask John out on a proper date, like a real one with dinner and wine and a long walk home afterwards.

What would dating John even be like? John isn't exactly the hand-holding type, but then again, neither is Hal. Beer and takeout and fucking on the sofa? That doesn't seem so bad after all. 

Carol leaves a little later with a kiss to Hal’s cheek, the bottle of whiskey left behind on the counter. She knows him too well, Hal thinks to himself, and it’s a blessing and a curse. 

Hal knows what to do, what he wants, and he just has to hope that John will forgive him. 

—

Hal fixes his hair in the mirror for what feels like the hundredth time. This is ridiculous. John’s seen him covered in alien guts. Even worse: he’s seen him when he’s just woken up in the morning, so it shouldn’t matter what he looks like now. God, it’s like he’s back in high school all over again. Pathetic. With one last look in the mirror, he heads out the door, hopefulness heavy in his chest. 

The flight to John's apartment messes up Hal's hair, which he really should have expected. He shouldn’t have bothered trying to tame it at all. 

He knocks on the door before he can lose his nerve. The door opens, John’s blonde head poking out furtively. 

Hal smiles. He wonders if it looks as awkward as it feels. “Hi.”

“Hal Jordan,” John says, a tight smile on his face, “long time no see.”

His words are icy beneath the thin veil of civility, and Hal can't exactly blame him. He did sneak out of John's apartment abruptly, no calls or late night visits since. Hal feels himself sinking, something like shame washing over him. How did he fuck this up? Maybe Hal has already blown his chance with John, but he has to try. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I just…” He trails off, rubbing at the back of his neck. ”Do you want to go out some time?” 

John quirks an eyebrow at him. “You asking me on a date or something?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

There’s a smile creeping across John’s face, like he’s trying and failing to hide it. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well…”

__

_ Home sweet hom _ e, Hal thinks when they step past the barrier and he’s standing back on that old, familiar tarmac. John is looking around beside him, gaze never staying in one place too long. He pulls out a lighter and flicks it on without lighting a cigarette. In the same movement it’s flicked off, then on again, off, on. When it starts to get on Hal’s nerves he snatches it from him.

“No open flames in the jet.”

John stares at him. “I’m sorry,  _ in _ the jet? You’re bloody crazy if you think I’m getting in one of those things.” He glances around again; his fingers tap an agitated rhythm. “I thought we were just here so you could show me something.”

“We are,” Hal says. 

They enter one of the hangers and Hal pulls two jumpsuits out of a storage cupboard. He tosses one at John, who doesn’t even try to catch it. It slaps him in the face then falls to the floor.

“I’ll just watch from down here,” he says. 

“It’s perfectly safe,” Hal points out. He can’t help smiling though. Who would have thought John Constantine was scared of flying, of all things?

John shakes his head. “I don’t care how perfectly safe it is. I’ve been flying before and I don’t bloody like it.”

Hal zips up his jumpsuit then picks up the one on the ground. He pushes it into John’s hands and holds it there, hands clasped around John’s own over the material.

“But you’ve never been flying with me,” he says. His tone is so soft and sappy he almost winces. John rolls his eyes.

“Bloody sap,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. He takes the jumpsuit and pulls it on. His ever-present trench coat gets shrugged back on over the top and it’s such a strange look that Hal has to take a picture.

“Oi,” John says, covering his face, but it’s not very convincing.

Hal just grins. “Ready?”

“No.”

Hal laughs. “Come on then. You’ll have a blast, I promise.”

“Might get blasted into a million pieces,” John mutters. He takes Hal’s hand though and let himself be pulled up into the jet. And if Hal maybe holds his hand for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary? Well. That’s just for John’s benefit.

John closes his eyes tightly as they take off, the engine thunderous, thrumming through Hal’s heart. There really is nothing quite like flying. He’s tempted to do a few fancy stunts, a barrel roll or a tailslide, but even though John’s eye are now open, staring out at the sky in wonder, his fingers are digging into edge of the seat and his face is ghostly pale. 

“You alright?” Hal checks. 

“Peachy, mate,” John replies, but as strained as the smile he flashes Hal is, it’s genuine. The longer they stay up there, the more he relaxes, only tensing up again when Hal brings the the jet into a dive before landing.

When they come to a stop he turns to John with a smile. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

John shakes his head. “Next time,” he says, “I pick the place.” 

_ FIN _


End file.
